58 DAYS IN THE OPEN 



ing. Bright and early the start was made, with 

 plenty of bread and butter, a skillet, and a supply of 

 fat, salt pork. The fisherman who could not be 

 happy on such a stream, on such a day, whether 

 the fish would bite or not, listening to the laughter 

 of the water, watching the flickers of sunshine 

 strained through the meshes of the trees, drinking 

 in the sweet, pure air, in close touch with nature, is 

 a hopeless pessimist. Fishing side by side, some- 

 times one and then the other going first, the friends 

 loitered down that beautiful stream while " not a 

 wave of trouble rolled across their peaceful 

 breasts." Now and then an exceptionally fine trout 

 was taken, and then fishing was suspended while 

 they examined and exclaimed over it. They won- 

 dered again, as they had often done before, why 

 some of the fish should be red of fin and belly and 

 with yellow meat, while others had the greyish- 

 white fin and belly, with white meat. The 

 Preacher caught two trout from under the same 

 log, one with blood-red fins and golden flesh, the 

 other white. They were both speckled trout, lived 

 side by side, ate the same food, but differed as 

 greatly as a red-headed boy and an albino. 



At noon, where the waters of a cold spring 

 bubbled out of the bank, a fire was made, the fat 

 pork set to sizzling in the skillet and then but 

 what's the use ? Trout fresh from the brook, fried 

 over a fire in the open and eaten with an appetite 

 engendered by hours of tramping and wading, 



